


A Formal Proposal

by I_am_lampy



Series: After All These Years [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Rings, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: John brought something out of his pocket, a black box small enough to fit in John's hand. Sherlock's eyes widened and his heart started beating against his rib cage like it was saying "grab the suitcase and run you idiot!" Sherlock made himself still. He could not, for the life of him, imagine accepting an actual ring and an actual marriage proposal from John Watson. It was too romantic. It wasn't them at all. If John thought this would help alleviate Sherlock's boredom, then John was an idiot after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I made up my own date for Rosie's birthday because it fit into my story. Also, keep in mind that this takes place three years after Sherrinford which is why she's so old. :)

* * *

Sherlock heard John come into the flat. He could always tell it was John, of course, by the way his feet landed on the stairs and the sound of his shoes. It was late October, the heat and humidity of the unrelenting summer behind them, mild days and chilly nights around them and the winter ahead of them. There had been a murder after all at the end of those long hot summer days and then another and while both of them had been interesting, neither one of them had sustained him for more than a few days before he had worked them out and Lestrade had wrapped them up.

But now a month had passed – more than a month, actually – since the last good murder and Sherlock was bored again in the terrible way that made Rosie bring out her inner thug and made John quiet and thin-lipped and prone to pushing Sherlock away when he tried to make love to him. Sherlock, feeling more isolated by John's rebuffing, became stormier and more likely to lose his temper. John's lips became whiter and Rosie threw even more tantrums. It was a cycle that neither Sherlock nor John seemed to be able to stop.

Rosie had turned four in early September. After thirty minutes at the party, Sherlock disappeared to his and John's bedroom to hide, knowing he was on the verge of saying something that he would regret. When John came to find him afterwards, he had been furious. _It only happens once a year. I hate making apologies for you_. Sherlock had snapped, _then don't_ and John had refused to speak to him for an entire day – twenty-seven hours and forty-two minutes, if one were precise. Sherlock had been precise. When he finally did speak to Sherlock, it was to say _here_ as he handed him his cup of tea as they had done every evening for over a year now. Later, in bed, Sherlock had turned to him and John had said quietly _no_ , and turned away from Sherlock, leaving a terrible gaping ache in Sherlock's chest. He had gone to sleep on the couch, except that he hadn't slept. The next day Sherlock had taken Rosie out, just the two of them, and she had learned about blood spatter and been absolutely gleeful and said _Can I have this for my party when I turn five?_ She was a bit bloodthirsty, their Rosie.

It was the last time Sherlock had been really good to his family; since then he had only gotten worse. He had tried, he really had. He had gone for very long walks, spent a lot of time at the morgue, harassed Lestrade as much as he could without Lestrade threatening to kick him out of NSY. And when Lestrade _did_ kick him out of the Yard, Sherlock had harassed Mycroft. He tried to do everything he could except make Rosie and John miserable and yet he had done it anyway. He hated himself so much when he was like that. He considered going to a psychiatrist and being prescribed something that would dampen The Sherlock Effect but John had vetoed that and there had been a terrible row and Sherlock had been forced to crash on Molly's couch, whose husband minded quite a bit.

So when John walked into the flat, Sherlock was ready.

"John, I've decided – "

"What's the suitcase for?" John asked, lifting his chin in the direction of said case. He pulled off his coat and dropped it on the couch, leaving Sherlock a little stunned at the clothes he was wearing underneath.

John Watson was in a suit.

The only times Sherlock had seen John in a suit was when he went to Sherlock's funeral and when he had gotten married to Mary.

"Why are you wearing – "

" _Why_ is there a suitcase sitting there?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock with narrowed eyes.

Sherlock took a deep breath and then let it out, unable to meet John's eyes.

"I've decided to stay with Mycroft for a few weeks as I can't seem to get my reprehensible behavior under control and – "

"The hell you are," John said.

"I don't mean permanently, John. Of course, I don't mean permanently. I just think it would be good for the three of us if I were to remove myself from the flat for a while and give you and Rosie a chance to breath and not – I'm sorry, John. I have to ask before I go. Why are you wearing a suit?"

"Sit down in your chair, Sherlock," John said, walking purposefully towards Sherlock.

"Look, John, unless you're planning to give me head, I think it's best if I just go," Sherlock said, trying to be funny and doing a fairly good job of it. At least he thought so.

"Please sit down, Sherlock," John said and Sherlock sat.

John brought something out of his pocket, a black box small enough to fit in John's hand. Sherlock's eyes widened and his heart started beating against his rib cage like it was saying _grab the suitcase and run you idiot!_ Sherlock made himself still. He could not, for the life of him, imagine accepting an actual ring and an actual marriage proposal from John Watson. It was too romantic. It wasn't _them_ at all. If John thought this would help alleviate Sherlock's boredom, then John was an idiot after all.

Apparently, he was an idiot after all. John got down on one knee in front of Sherlock's chair while Sherlock shrank away from the black box.

"Sherlock?" John asked and Sherlock was surprised to see that John was trying not to laugh. He always drew both lips in over his teeth when he was trying not to laugh. Sherlock's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What in the name of all that is sacred are you doing, John Watson?" Sherlock asked, ready to jump over the back of the chair and make a break for the door if needs must, suitcase be damned.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, will you marry me?" John asked and then opened up the black box.

Sherlock couldn't help himself. He peeked forward.

"I hope you're not – what _is_ \- " It was a ring, if by _ring_ one meant _circular object_. It was a semi-transparent, silicone ring with evenly spaced bumps around it. "Fucking hell, John! Did you buy me a _cock ring_ to propose to me?"

John exploded into laughter, or nearly as close as John ever _exploded_ into anything. He was a tightly reined in man, the eye of Sherlock's hurricane.

Sherlock's entire body flushed with embarrassment. "Why would you – "

"Sherlock," John began and then reached out and said, "Help me up. My damn knee hurts."

"You're getting ancient. I think I may need to find myself a younger man."

"Yeah, good luck with that, you bloody fucking arsehole."

"I'm not quite sure those words are appropriate for a marriage proposal, John," Sherlock said, helping John up off the floor.

John climbed onto Sherlock's lap, a knee on either side of Sherlock's thigh, causing Sherlock to forget why exactly he had thought he might stay at Mycroft's for a few weeks. Was he insane? Probably. Most likely. Absolutely, it turned out, as John leaned forward and ran his teeth along the edge of Sherlock's jaw until he got to his ear. He licked along the shell of Sherlock's ear and then bit his earlobe, which had Sherlock turning into a brainless mess.

"You know that problem you have when you're inside me?"

"Erm…" Sherlock said very intelligently.

"The one where you come so quickly it's not quite as fun for me as it should be? Or you, for that matter?"

"Oh," Sherlock said, wilting slightly in embarrassment. "That problem. Yes. I see."

"Exactly," John said and bit Sherlock's bottom lip.

"Huh," Sherlock said, his genius shining through.

"Your problem, Sherlock," John said, leaning back, which Sherlock found to be a completely unnecessary action. He much preferred when John was leaning _into_ him and not away from him. "Are you listening?"

"Always," Sherlock said, forcing his eyes up to John's.

"Your problem is that you've only been doing this for a year and a bit. The rest of us blokes have been wanking since we were twelve or thirteen. We've had a lot of practice drawing it out, but at the age of thirteen, I can promise you that not a bloke in this world could hold out for more than a few minutes. Your cock, Sherlock, is like a fourteen year old cock. I can't wait thirty years for your stamina to improve – "

"I hardly think it would take thirty years," Sherlock said, indignant at the insult to his virility.

"Let me rephrase that. I can't wait three years or three months. Or three hours, for that matter. Maybe three minutes. So until you can hold out a bit longer on your own, this is what we'll use. Because as much as I love fucking you, Sherlock," John added, doing some things with his teeth and his lips that made Sherlock forget why John was wearing a suit and there was a suitcase and a black box and something about Mycroft and insanity? John had barely kissed him in the last few weeks and then only the kinds of kisses that went _good morning_ and _good night_ and _I'm off to work_.

"As much as I love fucking you, Sherlock, I love it just as much when you fuck me."

Sherlock's brain came back online at that. It had been much longer than a few weeks since the last time John had let Sherlock fuck him. He supposed all relationships went through these ups and downs but they had been in a bit of a down for a month or so and by _down_ he did not mean _down on their knees_.

"Can I put it on now?" Sherlock asked, eyes lighting up dangerously.

"Slowly there, my little madman," John said. "It doesn't work if you're fully erect."

"Too late then, John. Your fault, mind you. You can't crawl into my lap and do those things with your teeth and your tongue and then go _oh, by the way, try not to get a stiff one_. Very unkind."

John grinned, and his eyes got that slightly profane look they got sometimes when John was about to become a very naughty man and made Sherlock want to do whatever it took to ensure John kept being a very naughty man. Sherlock had time to think _dear brain, be ready to go offline again_ when John got down on his knees. Both of them this time.

He set the box next to him on the floor and then looked up at Sherlock and said, "Take off your trousers."

"If the point was to soften my erection, John, your current position on the floor and the command for me to take off my trousers is the opposite of what you should be doing."

"I'm going to bring you off, you bloody idiot, and then we can start over. One benefit of having a fourteen year old cock is being able to get hard again in fourteen minutes, as we both know."

"Yes, as we both kn – _oh_ – " Sherlock said and then didn't anything for about five more minutes at which point he said a great many things, most of them beginning with the letters _O_ and _F_ and _J_.

John stood up afterwards and held his hand out for Sherlock who stared at it dumbly for a minute before John wiggled it impatiently.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, it's like you've been struck dumb," John said, sighing. "Let's go. To the bedroom."

"Where's Rosie?" Sherlock asked, on the way to the bedroom.

"With Gina," John said, looking back at Sherlock over his shoulder.

"For how long?" Sherlock asked, beginning to grin.

"Until tomorrow. I've got to go for her at half past noon."

"So we have – " Sherlock looked at his watch. " – almost twenty-four hours?"

"Problem?" John asked as they walked up the stairs.

Sherlock sighed sadly. "It's just…I was _really_ looking forward to spending quality time with my brother."

"Oh, shut up you ruddy git."

"John have you never noticed that you swear at me a lot?"

"Sherlock," John said, turning around to take off his future-husband's clothes. " _Everyone_ swears at you a lot."

"Yes, but I don't notice anyone else except you," Sherlock said, not meaning to be sweet at all, only being factual as he most often was.

But it _was_ sweet and John took Sherlock's face in his hands and said, "I was thinking a Christmas wedding. At your parents' house. What do you think?"

"I think this conversation is an excellent way to prevent me from becoming erect," Sherlock said and smiled devilishly.

"Oh, good, then," John said, divesting Sherlock of his suit jacket, before beginning on the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. "Rosie as flower girl, of course. Perhaps Christmas roses?"

"Of course, although please do not ever mention her name again while you are undressing me."

"Who will stand up for you? Mycroft, I assume."

"Another name to avoid when you are undressing me."

"And for me, I was thinking my friend Gina. We've become quite close."

"How close is close?" Sherlock asked, feeling a flare of jealousy. John may have thrown heterosexuality out the window with Sherlock but he was still bisexual.

"Close enough for her to stand up for me at our wedding. Not close enough for her to be any threat to you whatsoever. She gives great advice, though. This was her idea."

"I wish you had never told me that," Sherlock said, paling slightly. "I will never look her in the eye again."

"Well, she's a tiny thing, about three or four inches shorter than me so I shouldn't worry about it if I were you."

At that point, Sherlock was completely naked and, as desired, only partially hard. John crouched down and brought the silicone ring out of its velvet nest and then said, "With this ring I thee – "

"That is not at all funny," Sherlock said, feeling himself get a bit hard at John's hands on his penis.

" – to have and to fuck – " John began sliding the cock ring down Sherlock's shaft, which was quickly hardening, standing outward from his body like a directional pointer.

"Not even a little bit funny."

" – and to be fucked, from this day forward – "

"Why do you never listen to me?"

" – until the end of time and/or until one of us murders the other in a fit of rage."

"Oh, that was lovely, John. Truly heartfelt."

John stood up – again, with Sherlock's help – and then brought Sherlock's head down and whispered in his ear, "Would you like to fuck me, Sherlock Holmes?"

"Only if you promise that this will not be the actual ring you put on me at the ceremony," Sherlock said, making quicker work of John's clothes than John had made of his.

"Oh, I don't know. I think it's rather fitting," John said and then looked down at Sherlock's cock, which was completely erect and tapping against his belly.

"You're so funny, Dr. Watson," Sherlock said, pushing John down onto the bed.

"How do you want me?" John asked, by which he meant _what position_.

"I think…you on top," Sherlock said, laying down on his back.

"But – " John said.

"No, not _topping_ , obviously. _On top_ ," Sherlock explained, reaching into the drawer for the lube.

"Oh," John said, eyes turning from blue-grey into indigo-black.

When John was lowering himself onto Sherlock's cock and Sherlock bucked his hips up against him, causing John to fall forward slightly, Sherlock caught him by the shoulders and said, "There is one opinion I would like to offer on the wedding."

"Mm?" John asked, eyes slipping shut.

"What do you think about Dr. and Mr. Watson-Holmes?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh," John said and Sherlock rocked his hips up again.

"Or maybe Mr. and Dr. Holmes-Watson?" Sherlock asked, loving again the feel of John around him, the ecstasy of being inside John, the way it drove him mad physically and emotionally.

"Whatever you want," John gasped and Sherlock smiled, his cock rigid and slick deep inside John's arse, his brain shutting down everything but the most vital operations, John bending forward before sliding back down Sherlock's length and then grinding down to push Sherlock as deep as he could go and then leaning forward again.

"Captain Watson," Sherlock moaned.

"That one will do," John whispered and let his head fall back as Sherlock's hands slid up his thighs and wrapped around his cock, the two of them sinking into and onto and around each other, synapses firing, oxytocin washing their brains in chemicals, love already a given, life before them, everything an adventure together, like it had been and like it would always be.

**Author's Note:**

> I always welcome emails from readers about anything that tickles your fancy, even if it's just randomness!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com  
> Teddy


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